


je disparais dans tes bras

by orphan_account



Category: Les Twins
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24814624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The twins watch Revolution.
Relationships: Larry Bourgeois/Laurent Bourgeois
Kudos: 8





	je disparais dans tes bras

Sunday evening, when the next episode aired, they were in London. They watched it together on his computer, lying side by side on the bed in his hotel room, as if they weren’t the judges at all.

Larry was kind to Laurie. He’d forgotten that. Laurent feels, with her, the comfort of his presence. His broad shoulders.

He’s lying on his front now, to his right, his chin on his hands: Laurent looks at him, and knows that he sees him, although his eyes don’t move from the screen. He’s wearing his glasses, and there’s stubble along the line of his jaw and above his top lip. And Laurent wants to kiss him. Has wanted constantly to kiss him for the whole of the long September since the evening they kissed. After a long, un-special day of filming, after twenty-nine years in each other’s company and eight years, as adults, in each other’s pockets, the evening they kissed.

He reaches out to run a hand down Larry’s back, finding relief in the familiar curve of his spine. Larry stretches and his shirt rides up, and Laurent slips his hand beneath the hem to stroke his lower back.

Larry mumbles something.

“What?”

“Do you remember.” He’s looking at the screen.

“Remember what?”

“Laurie. Your girlfriend.”

“Oh, shit,” says Laurent, and Larry rolls his eyes. “Not ‘til right now.”

“You used to watch movies with her. In my room.”

“It was my room too.”

“Not for a whole year.”

“Yeah,” says Laurent, smirking at him. “The best year of your life.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Guadeloupe?”

“Yeah,” says Larry.

 _Does_ he miss it?

“I miss the sun,” he says. “But I missed you there, every day, my brother.”

“My twin,” says Larry, quietly. He slides a hand up into Laurent’s hair. How alike they must look, from the outside.

“Did you miss me?”

Larry’s hand tightens in his hair. “Yeah,” he says, as if it’s a confession.

His hand falls to Laurent’s shoulder, fingers at the back of his neck, as they turn back to the screen. The camera is on him, Laurent: he’s watching the stage, his eyes far away. Next to him, Larry leans back in his chair, his elbow on the armrest, his chin in his hand, mirroring him. Both of them, together, from the outside. What is revealed?

Laurent flips down the lid of the computer, and for a moment, in the sudden quiet, they’re silent. “Hey,” says Larry – a token protest only. Without a word, Laurent kisses his neck, and he shivers. “Lau,” he says – a question now, and Laurent kisses him again, in the same spot, and he rolls onto his back, exposing his throat.

“Yeah?”

Larry’s hand finds his hair again. His eyes say, We can’t.

“Larry,” he says. “Larry.” He rarely has a reason to say Larry’s name in private, and the act of pronouncing it makes the air tingle. “Who does it hurt. Not Jess. Not Mel.”

“Don’t say those names.”

“Why not?”

“Because – this is special.”

Larry, when he feels something whose character he can’t inarticulate, has always resorted to childish clichés.

He says, “Yes.” It’s an admission of vulnerability: he is willing to accept Larry’s inadequate description of _this_. Which shows Larry that he wants this. Of course, Larry already knew that. Just as he already knows that Larry does.

__

Larry strokes the back of his neck. “Laurent,” he says. Nothing like a child of course – he is the steadier of the two of them. “What if Mami knew.”

__

“She would never know.”

__

He speaks in the conditional, but it’s already begun to happen. He sits up, to look down at Larry, while Larry’s gaze stays fixed on the ceiling. “This is fucking crazy,” he says.

__

Laurent laughs. “Since when was that a bad thing.”

__

Larry grins too. “Maybe.”

__

A silence stretches between them, and Laurent forces himself not to speak. He is not willing to make a wrong move. Nor, maybe, to persuade Larry. Let him come to him, if he will.

__

He thinks, Will he?

__

Larry’s hand on his forearm; then a firm grip on his wrist. He says, “I don’t even know why I feel like this.”

__

So it’s done. 

__

Laurent says, a pretence of a question, “Like what?”

__

“Like I want to kiss you.”

__

Now he can’t help his smile. “Why don’t you just kiss me?”

__

Larry sits up, to touch his cheek with his left hand. Touches the corner of his mouth. His breath on Laurent’s lips. He says, “Just tell me you want it too.”

__

“I do,” he says. “Larry. You know that I do.”

__

A soft, dry kiss. Then Larry touches his bottom lip with the pad of his finger, so that he opens his mouth. He’s still holding Laurent’s wrist – his thumb on the underside, at the pulse point. And Larry cradles his jaw, and kisses him again: and now it’s only him, the taste of his mouth, the slide of his tongue, the smell of him.

__

They break apart, panting, pressed together, and he can feel Larry’s heart thumping against his own chest.

__

Laurent can’t help stroking at him under his shirt. His fingers brush a nipple, and Larry takes a sharp breath. And so Laurent pinches it, and bends his head to mouth at the other through his shirt, leaving a faint damp circle on the white cotton, and Larry groans, and Laurent kisses him again, pins him to the bed. He drags his hand down over Larry’s stomach, over his hipbone, his sharp hipbone, and Larry’s trembling against him.

__

“Slowly,” Laurent tells him.

__

“Yeah,” says Larry. His broad palm comes up to rest between Laurent’s shoulders. “Whatever you say.” He mouths at the skin at the bottom of Laurent’s neck, and Laurent can feel himself twitch.

__

“Larry,” he says. Larry bites him. “ _Fuck_.” Then Larry rocks up against him, and he can’t help rocking back “Fuck,” he says again. He lets more of his weight sink onto Larry’s hips, and Larry groans. He grins at him. “Wanna do it like this?”

__

Larry’s hands are on Laurent’s shoulders, and with perfect ease he rolls them both over. “No,” he says. 

__

Now he’s on top, blocking out the overhead light. He’s all Laurent can see. He sits on Laurent’s thighs and under his solid weight, Laurent breathes out. The tension dissipates, becomes, perhaps, warmth.

__

“Sleep here then,” he says.

__

Larry drops his gaze, and he waits. His chest feels like it’s constricting.

__

Then Larry smiles, and presses his hand. He rolls off him to stand up, cross the room to where he left his key-card, and let himself out.

__

And Laurent know he’ll come back.

__

Fin.

__

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Christine and the Queens.


End file.
